All language subtitles for The snows of Kilimanjaro

Kilimanjaro is a snow-covered
mountain, 19,710 feet high,

and is said to be
the highest mountain in Africa.

Close to the western summit there is the
dried and frozen carcass of a leopard.

No one has explained what the
leopard was seeking at that altitude.

Look at 'em.

I wonder, is it sight or is
it scent that brings them?

They've been about for ever so long.
They don't mean a thing.

The marvelous thing is
that it's painless now.

Is it really?
Yes.

That's how you know
when it starts.

They're a filthy bird,

but they know their business.

I used to watch the way they
sailed very carefully at first,

in case I ever wanted to use
one of them in a story.

That's funny now.

I've gotten so nervous, not
being able to do anything.

I think we might make it as easy
as possible until the plane comes.

Or until the plane doesn't come.

Mr. Johnson hasn't been a white
hunter for a quarter of a century...

not to know his way around.

If he can't get a plane, he'll
be back with another truck.

One way or another,
it's not very important.

I feel so helpless. I wish
there was something I could do.

You can take the leg off.

Or you can shoot me.
You're a good shot.

I taught you to shoot, didn't I?

Let's not be melodramatic,
Harry. You're not going to die.

No, I'm dying now.
Ask those things.

They're around every camp.
You never notice them.

I don't see why this had to happen
to your leg in the first place.

What have we done-- either one of
us-- to have had this happen to us?

Well, I suppose
that what I did...

was forget to put iodine on it
when I first scratched it.

We were after the impala,
in case you've forgotten.

And with a camera, at that.

Ow! Ow!

That isn't what I meant, and
it isn't how you got your leg.

No?
Not at all.

It was at the lake last week.

It was a lovely, peaceful day,

and those enormous hippos
were having their own party.

We could've passed them by
without incident,

but-- oh, no-- you had to
get so awfully playful.

Look at them. There
must be hundreds of them.

Harry, look at that one!

Look at that big one
over there!

Harry! I wouldn't chance it any closer.

Harry! Careful!

Harry! What's the
matter? You frightened?

Not in the least.
Well, let's go!

Come on. Come on!

Harry, easy.
You're asking for trouble.

Harry, look here.
Here!

Harry! Harry, we've
lost one of our boatmen.

What?

Harry!

And you insisted on carrying the boy
in your arms all the way back to camp.

And it was from all his blood and
dirt that you got that infection.

That could be
the point of view.

From yours, it would be
contact with the lower classes.

Being a writer, I prefer to
think that it was a quirk of fate,

a mere prick of a thorn...

that laid the great man low.

A lot it matters now.

Harry, please!

- Molo!
- Here, bwana!

- Whiskey soda. Make it pronto, Molo.
- It's bad for you.

No, it isn't. It's good for
me. It's not good for you.

No, it's bad for me. Cole
Porter wrote the words in music.

* It's knowledge that
you're going mad for me *

That's poetry.
Oh, I'm full of poetry now.

Rot and poetry--
Rotten poetry. Harry.

Harry, it said in the first-aid
book to avoid all alcohol.

It's not good for you. That's
what I meant by giving up.

You must do everything you can.

Ah, you do it.
I'm too tired.

I'll take this, if only
to keep it away from you.

That's a pretty good rule
for life:

Take everything you can, if only
to keep it from somebody else.

Wish I'd followed it.

I'm sure Molo understands more
English than you think he does.

Molo.
Bwana?

Go away or stuff your ears so you won't
hear the civilized people fighting.

Harry, if you think
you have to die,

is it absolutely necessary for you to
kill off everything you leave behind?

You think this is
any fun for me?

I don't even know why I do it.

Trying to kill to keep
yourself alive, I imagine.

You won't die if you-- It's not
dying, not in itself, that matters!

It's dying a failure...

leaves a bad taste
in your mouth.

How does a man miss the boat?

Did I ever tell you
about my beginning,

when I was young?

- With my first love?
- No, you didn't.

And I'm not sure
I want to hear it.

I'll tell you all about it
over this drink.

You'll tell me without.

There are plenty of things
you're lucky I haven't told you.

This little ditty
had everything--

drama, tragedy,

love and poetry.

Simply everything.

No, I'm not gonna listen to you!
More big words!

Big words! I'm through being
insulted as if I were some tramp!

You can fly a kite, both
of you! Connie! Connie!

Uncle Bill doesn't mean-- Oh,
yes, he does! You know he does!

The old mossback! The nasty,
dirty, stuck-up old mossback!

He only said we ought to wait. Ha!
Wait! I like that, coming from you.

I didn't say--
You bet you didn't!

Not once all summer when you wanted
to hug and kiss me and get fresh.

And all those things about where
you'd take me and what we'd do.

Not once did you yell
to me to wait!

"I love you!" You don't
even know what love is!

Connie!
Oh! Go fly a kite!

Come in, Harry.
She'll recover.

- Connie, I'll shove off for you!
- You shoved off already!

You still intend to
become a writer? Yes.

Well, there are different
kinds of writers...

just as there are different
kinds of everything.

You can become another Hank.

It's easy-- Peddle
soap to housewives.

Nothing wrong
with peddling soap.

Make a fortune.

But I'll tell you the only
right approach to real writing.

It's like a hunt.

It's a hunt in which a man pits his brains
against the forces of ignorance and evil.

It's a lifelong
and lonely safari.

The prey he seeks
is a truth worth telling,

faith worth living by,

something worth
spilling his guts about.

He must track it down
by himself.

I don't know if you'll be one to
have the fortitude to stick it,

to follow the spoor
no matter where it leads,

to what pain and suffering,

through hell and high water.

If you are, God help you.

God pity you.
And good luck.

I beg you not to ruin yourself before you
start by loading your pack with excess baggage.

That's my business, isn't it?

Yes. Yes, it is.

You know, you're young.

You'll need to travel and learn.

Education.

I'd like to help.

I think I've made clear
the conditions.

Your birthday next week.
Here.

From now on, you might regard
that Springfield as your own.

Shall we have a try
for deer tomorrow?

Good weather for it.

Oh, I've lived, all right,

but where has it got me?

To a camp in Africa with you,

my rich, beautiful wife.

Before you, how many others?

That's traveling alone...

in a pig's eye.

Well, have it your way, Harry.

I'm gonna shoot some game.
The lot is almost empty.

I'll change into my boots
and call Molo.

Helen. You shouldn't pay any
attention to me really, darling.

I love you, you know.

Why, I've never loved anyone
the way I loved you.

I won't take any more, darling.

Before you go,

come here, hmm?

Give me a kiss.

And leave me this. Harry! Why
do you have to turn into a devil?

Because if I can't die happy,
I can try to die delirious.

How can I help you
if you won't help yourself?

By going to sleep?
No, thank you.

There'll be plenty of that
soon enough.

What time I've got left, I've
got plenty to think about.

I'll leave you to your thoughts.

Only this time, try to
get some of them straight.

Just go do your killing. That's
what we're good at-- both of us.

Abdula!
Abdula!

Get out the Springfield!
Get out the Springfield!

And the solids!
And the solids!

**

**

Harry!
Emile!

Bonsoir.

In English,
that's quite a question.

Now, from other sources.

Hi, Compton.
Harry! How's the book?

How's anybody's book?
It isn't finished.

Harry, did you quit
your job to do it?

Look, do you mind if I cut in?

Uh-uh-uh! Forage
for yourself, chum.

Oh, Harry, you don't stay?

It's a case of avoiding
a broken nose, Emile--

mine or old Compton's--

because a laugh like hers would just
have to lead it to a lousy fight.

Bonsoir.

**

Please.

Thanks. I'm Cynthia,
Cynthia Green.

Cyn. That's nice.

When did you come in?
Oh, minutes ago.

I'll be hanged.

The latest thing from home.

I'm, uh-- Harry Street,
Chicago Tribune. And you write.

Ex-Chicago Tribune.
And I'm trying to write.

Well, they're telling it
the other way. Do you mind?

Well, everybody's trying
something over here.

Or at least trying to try.

What are you trying to do?
Are you trying to paint?

No, I'm not trying to paint.

Are you trying to sculpt?
No, I'm not trying to sculpt.

Then you must be trying
to write too.

No. I'm only trying
to be happy.

Well, everybody's
trying something.

I'll bet I'm the only person in the whole
darn place who's only trying to be happy.

You'd better take this from me.
I sometimes drink too much.

Anything's fair in the
pursuit of happiness.

Oh, I'm not completely idle.
I-- I pose sometimes.

In what my maiden aunt
calls "the altogether"?

Sometimes.

We all have to make our way
with whatever we were given.

Oh, hasn't that African
got any piety at all?

Uh,

I'm remembering my manners.

Are you...
Compton's lady?

No. I'm not particularly
Compton's lady.

I'm not Compton's lady at all.
I'm my own lady.

How would you like it if you and I
would just "piety" right out of here?

I expect I'd like it very much.

My father was a soldier.

He had the bad luck to get
himself killed in the Argonne.

So, after the war I came over...

to take him home to rest.

But once I saw France, I decided that
this is as good a place to rest as any,

for him and for myself.

So I stayed on.

No mother?
No, not for years.

I see.

Well, uh,

where shall we go
and rest right now?

Would you like to go and rest in
another bar, have another drink?

No, I'm afraid I've gone
and had too many again.

You know, in Paris,

nobody ever thinks of suggesting
just going home... to rest.

May I have a cigarette?

Could you... conceivably
picture yourself as Harry's lady?

Will you be kind to me?

I think I'm a little
afraid of you.

There are so many things
that I've not written...

and that I'll never write now.

I've written only
that first time in Paris--

the Paris that I loved.

The Place Contrescarpe,

where the flower sellers dyed
their flowers in the street.

The dye ran purple over the paving
stones where the autobus started.

And the children played in the
streets in the spring sunshine.

And the wood
and coal man's place.

He sold wine too.
Bad wine.

And the golden horse's head
outside the Boucherie Chevaline,

where the carcasses hung yellow,
gold and red in the window.

And the green-painted cooperative
where we bought our wine.

Good wine, and cheap.

Our apartment
was a room and a half.

There I did my work, and
Cynthia took up housekeeping.

And together we did all of the
things which go to make up living.

Harry.

Harry.

Darling?
Breakfast is ready.

Hello.

Hello.

We knew our neighbors in that
quarter. We were all poor.

And in that poverty
and in that quarter,

I finished that first book.

A good book-- the start
of all I thought I was to do.

And I called it
The Lost Generation,

not knowing at the time how
much it was about my Cynthia.

Harry!

Harry!

Harry! Darling!

Oh, Harry, darling,
it's been accepted! What?

Your very first book, and
it's gonna be published. No!

Yes, and now we can get
that-- How much is the advance?

The check? Yeah. How much? Oh!

It isn't so very much, but
it isn't so little either.

Well, you're right.
It isn't so very much.

It'll do in a pinch.

Darling, now we can get that
lovely apartment on the Seine.

Now we can go to Africa.

Oh!

And there never was
another time for me...

like that first time in Africa.

Three of 'em.
A bull and two cows.

Good!

He says he's a fine bull. I know
what he says. When do we get going?

We'll get downwind
and work up on 'em.

Don't you think it's time the
memsahib had the first shot?

What?
No, I don't want it.

How correct you are, Mr. Johnson.
I definitely don't want it!

Come on. You'll do it marvelously.
Come on. He's all yours!

Now, take it easy.

Just imagine he's
a tin can in the camp.

But he's not a tin can. I don't want
to do it. Shoot low at this distance.

Careful.
Don't spook him.

Now! Just set him
squarely in your sights.

Brace yourself and squeeze.

Dearest Harry, please shut up.

Come on. Hurry up!

Will you shoot, for--

You missed. I told you
I didn't want to do it.

No harm done.
Everybody misses.

I never claimed I was a
hunter. You're the hunter.

Yes, and you,
the great white hunter.

Sure, sure. Come on, Annie
Oakley. Have yourself a drink.

Don't let the master ride
you. Shall we get going?

He took cover there. What
do you mean, "get going"?

Where will he break out? I won't go,
and I don't want you to. I'm frightened!

You scared them half to death.
There won't be anything to it.

All right. Then if
you're going, so am I.

Oh, no, you're not.
Is she, Mr. Johnson?

You're gonna stay here with
Simba. I was only having fun.

Harry. Don't you
want to kiss me?

Kiss you good-bye? Well,
aren't you extravagant?

You stay here
and be brave.

Harry! Harry!

- Harry!
- Go back!

- Go back!
- Harry!

Look lively.
Look lively.

Harry!

Harry!

**

It's a funny moment when an animal
comes out of the bush at you.

A million things seem
to happen at once.

Is it always like that?
It's very simple.

Either you run or you get busy.

It's not at all simple.

You could write a lot about it
if you could get it just right.

Different feelings
at different times.

Today it was like,
uh, an explosion...

of purest joy.

It was like a dam bursting.

Why is it everyone who comes to
Africa has to write a book about it?

One silly beggar
even dedicated his to me.

Never came back, or I'd
have shot him in the pants.

Can't you two let it
alone, even at night?

Well, we're talking about
your rhino. He wasn't mine.

He was all yours. All we did
was polish him off for you.

Anybody want another look
at that horn?

Pretty good horn.

What's the matter
with me, Mr. Johnson?

Everybody isn't required
to like Africa, you know.

I try to put up a show
because I know he loves it so.

But all of it-- the hunting,
the killing-- it terrifies me.

See here. This thing that
he was talking about--

the excitement--
call it courage.

The way he feels it is a man's
feeling, natural in a man.

Grows in a man
and makes him a man.

Not particularly to
his credit if he has it,

but something lacking
if he hasn't.

A woman shows her courage
in other ways, many ways.

I've got another
fear now-- worse.

I'm going to have a baby.

What?

We came to Africa for trophies.

Harry's got his,
and I've got mine.

Ah, it's natural enough,
isn't it?

Shall I tell him?
What'll he think?

Mr. Johnson,
when I first met Harry--

How's your drink?
No, thanks.

I'll have some.

All my life I'd just been
drifting. Nobody, no place.

I guess you'd say I had
no personal security.

But when I first
got to know Harry--

You should've seen him in Paris.
Have you ever been to Paris?

No. Unnatural, maybe,
but I never had the desire.

Makes no difference.
You've seen him here.

There was I, weak and needy.

There was he,
strong and confident.

Every bit of me said
this is all of it.

When we first went
to live at his place,

I was happy just to sit and
watch him as much as I could,

content to just sit still and
hold onto my feeling of safety.

But Harry was never still,
even when he worked.

No sooner had he finished his first book
than he said we were going to Africa.

I didn't want to stir, but
I felt that if I told him so,

I'd lose something.

And now he's already
talking about other places.

If I tell him about
this anchor, this child,

this-- this load
of responsibility--

It isn't things I want--
believe me, nothing like it--

but only him as a rock
to hold onto.

So, shall I tell him now...

and risk beginning to lose him,

or put it off and see
if something happens?

Isn't it enough I have to
guide you greenhorns on safari?

Am I hired to be
an old nurse too?

Be Mr. Johnson,
my friend.

Really?
Please.

Now, see here.
I'm just a hunter.

I can only say it
the way I know how.

It's when you run away
you're most liable to stumble.

Well, they may have
better horns in museums,

but 33 inches is nothing
to be ashamed of.

Good night.
Good night.

What's the matter with
him? He's going to bed.

It's too early.
I feel too good.

Oh, I wonder if there'll ever
be another time as good as this.

Harry--
Listen. Just listen.

That's a bedtime lullaby, eh?

There's an awful lot of
everything there is in this--

hunger, love, hate, fright.

There's a wonderful book in it.

Maybe I'll write it someday.

Darling.

Don't spoil it.

Don't talk it all away.

Now, as soon as you reach
Paris, see your own physician.

I'm sure he'll confirm
what I've told you.

You'll have to be quiet. No
running about, no excitement.

Probably means your spending
much of the time in bed.

Clear?
I understand.

Some women are like that.

If you want the child
badly enough,

it won't seem like such
a sacrifice, now, will it?

Shall I have a talk
with your husband?

Oh, no. I'll tell him.
Thank you, Doctor.

Good luck.
Thank you.

Oh, I'll take that.

Oh, just put it right
there, please. Yes, darling.

Hmm? Oh!
I thought you were--

On the table, sahib.
Look what just arrived.

A letter from the publisher and a check.

It isn't very much,
but it's a check.

Everything's gonna work out
all right. What will, darling?

All of it.

Say, what'd old sawbones say?

Nothing frightful?
Didn't pick up a fever?

No, I--
What did I tell you?

All you need's a change of climate.
We'll go directly to Madrid.

We'll have the bullfights,
El Grecos at Del Prado,

then up to Pamplona
in time for the fiesta.

- Harry.
- Luckiest timing in the world.

Darling, couldn't we
just go home?

Home?

Where's that?

You mean back to Paris.

Well, why?

Just to go home.

Look, darling, we can get a
nice apartment with the check...

with a room for you to work in.

You don't have to go
to Spain, do you?

No, darling, I don't
have to go to Spain...

or anyplace else.

You just want to.

Look, Cynthia, if I have to sound
like a lousy stiff that had a mission.

I'm trying to become a writer.

It's a writer's business
to buzz around,

find out about things
for himself,

not sit on his can in a comfortable
chair and reach for a bookcase...

for something to crib from.

And after Spain?

How do we know?

I mean, you never want
this other normal thing?

I'm trying to explain
what is my normal thing.

With maybe children?
Children?

Darling, I want a child more
than anything in the world.

Something of my very own
to hold onto.

Well! Well, sure.

I love kids, but later.

We've got lots of time.

Look, Cyn, the world
is a market...

in which you buy
what you want--

not just with money, but with
your time, with a lot of things.

It's an exchange. You give
something, and you get something.

I'm giving up
a piece of my life...

to get something
that I need for my work.

Later on we can afford what we
can afford. It's as simple as that.

I see.

Can I fix you a drink?

It's a little bit early,
isn't it?

It seems to me to be just about
the right time. Do you object?

No.

Look, Cyn, if you have
this yen to go to Paris,

well, you can go there.

Without you?

I'm not saying that I want it.

I'm just saying
that you can go there.

Or...

if it's a matter
of life and death,

okay, I'll go with you.

I'll go change the tickets.

Harry!

Get a doctor!
Call an ambulance!

Mr. Street?
Yes?

I'm Dr. Simmons. How
do you do? How is she?

Sorry to have to tell you
she lost the child.

The what? You didn't know, Mr. Street?

Exactly what happened?

They told me at the hotel that
there'd... been an accident, that's all.

A nasty fall. She'll be quite
all right after a few days' rest.

Do you actually mean you
didn't know about the child?

Don't you people
talk to each other?

You did it deliberately.

It was an accident. You did
it because of what I said.

It was an accident.
I stumbled.

You didn't have
any right to do it.

It was my child too, you know.

Don't, darling.

Oh, Cyn.

Oh, darling.

Stupid little idiot.

Now... we can go
to the bullfights.

Listen, I got seats
way up here. Better?

Anything you say, darling.

From up here, you can see the
whole thing as a spectacle.

It's quite a sight.

�Ol�!

�Ol�!

�Ol�!

�Ol�!

�Ol�! �Ol�!

�Ol�! �Ol�!

�Ol�!

�Ol�! �Ol�!

�Ol�!

**

You know, darling, I
think that dancer likes me.

All right. The dancer likes
you. I like you too, darling.

Yes, but his liking is new,
and yours is old.

An old, old story that's ending.

What did the telegram
say, Harry?

Darling, you don't want to
be childish. You've read it.

They offered me an assignment to
cover the fracas in Damascus...

between the Syrians
and the French.

Yes, that's what it said,
but that isn't what it meant.

It meant that I'm beginning a lifetime
without you. That's real nonsense.

Then why didn't you ask me
to go with you?

Darling, there's a war
going on there.

There's a war going on here
too-- right here at this table.

There's a dandy
little war going on.

Darling, you shouldn't
drink too much. No, no.

I shouldn't do a lot of things too
much. I shouldn't love you too much.

I'm awfully bad for you.

We're so hopelessly in love,
and we can't make it work.

That's nonsense, darling.

I shouldn't have wanted
to be happy too much.

I expected it
to come like a gift.

Then I shouldn't
follow you around.

I'm a drag on you,
and I hate every bit of it.

I shouldn't even have wanted
to have your child.

It wasn't fair to you. Cynthia. Cynthia.

Cynthia.

You've got to forget that.
You're driving yourself crazy.

Yes, I ought to forget.

I ought to just go back
to Paris alone, as you say,

and not drive myself crazy at all
while I wait for you and wait and wait.

Don't you even know
you're lying?

I'm not lying.
No.

No, it isn't a lie yet.

It won't be a lie until you go away
and discover you're not coming back,

but are going on and on
and see the whole world,

even if you lose it for us.

You know, I think this
dancer likes me very much.

All right, the dancer
likes you very much.

It ought to make me very happy.

It makes me feel dreadful.

Shall we invite him
over to the table?

Do you think his manners
would be as nice as yours?

Do you think he'd ask me
first if I'm Harry's lady?

Women can pick the times
to start a row.

It's not a row, darling.
It's very sad.

You with your ambition,
me with my guilt.

A lot of things are sad.

Why do they put the pants on
the horses in the bullfights?

I've told you that.
Tell me again.

It isn't so the horses
won't feel the hurt, is it?

It's only for the spectators,

so they won't see
the horses' insides.

Yes, it's for the
protection of the spectators.

I knew you wouldn't
like the horses.

But I desperately
like the horses.

I know just how the horses feel, with their
nice pants to protect them from the spectators.

You ought to put some pants on
me to protect you, poor darling.

Cynthia, will you kindly,
kindly, kindly stop?

Yes. I shouldn't
talk too much.

That's another of the things
I do too much.

Will you excuse me for a moment?

Harry!

It's all right, dear.
I'll be back in a jiffy.

Bravo!

**

Will you send this
right away, please?

Immediately, Se�or Street.

The lady left, se�or.

Where did she go?

I don't know, inasmuch as
she left with the dancer.

She what?

She said to tell you, if you inquired,
there was no use of looking for her.

She said she is not coming back.

**

**

Where's the mem?

She went out to kill something.

She's very good at killing.
I taught her.

Heigh, ho!

When the party's over, you're
likely to get left with your hostess.

Oh, yes.
Here she comes now.

Yeah. I suppose I'm as well
off with her as any other.

She's a splendid woman
by all standards.

Maybe if I close my eyes,
she'll go away.

Make a good shot?
Oh!

Hello.
Hello.

Rather a good shot--
through the shoulder.

You shoot marvelously, you know?

How are you feeling?
Better.

I thought maybe you would.
You were sleeping when I left.

Shall I relieve Molo? No. He wants
to shave me, and I want to talk.

Well, everyone must have someone to
talk with. He's the perfect audience.

Doesn't understand a word I tell
him. Therefore, we don't quarrel.

Let's not quarrel anymore,
no matter how nervous we get.

You needn't be afraid
of me anymore.

I'm not afraid of you.
I never was.

Will you call me if you need me? Sure.

Come back anytime you
feel like it. Molo.

You know,

you Africans may have the
right system with women at that.

Buy one
for a few cows--

whatever it is you happen
to use for money.

And if she isn't satisfactory,
you get your money back.

We use our emotions.

And if it cracks up,

we don't get anything back.

Ouch!

Sure, sure.

Bwana's whiskers very tough.

A lot of things are tough.

You know, son,

there was one woman--

And what a woman.

I wrote a book about her too.

Another woman, another book.

Wasn't about Spain or Africa
or anything that I cared about,

but into it I poured
the anger that I felt...

and some dirt
and belly-laugh humor--

Just right to tickle
the smart ones on the Riviera.

And I'd found something, son.

I'd found success.

You swim very well.

Naturally, when I have
an incentive--

swimming to you, darling.

Do you do everything
else as well?

I swam over--
Don't, Harry!

What's the matter?

You afraid of
startling the fish?

Afraid of you.

Frigid Liz.

I swam way over to tell you
that I've changed your plans.

You are not going away tonight. No?

Well, swim around and tell me
why you think I'm not.

Because you run around, and
what does it get you? Only dizzy.

If you have to write, I have a typewriter
at home I'll let you call your own.

You've got a few other things
at home I'd like to call my own.

I can't let you go, darling.

I can't let go of you.

Countess, there's
no one like you.

Climb up here on this
boat. I can't, Harry!

I've hardly anything on.
Get up here.

Please, lover. Not out here.

I suppose it was
the elusiveness of Liz...

which was her main attraction.

She was something to hunt down
and trap and capture.

The Countess Elizabeth--
"Frigid Liz."

The semi-iceberg
of the semi-tropics.

It was fun, son.

It was just lousy with fun.

It would be much more polite
if you'd say it, darling.

For once, I'm speechless.

At least say
that you don't like it.

But I do--
immensely.

I admit that something
has me puzzled.

Would you mind
answering one question?

Not at all.
What's the question?

Well, why do you
want her for this?

I admit she must be nice
to have around... for Harry.

Yes. I don't think
I introduced you.

Beatrice, this is my fianc�'s
nice uncle, Mr. Swift.

Enchant�, monsieur.

Beatrice? There's a fine
lot of divinity in that name.

- Dante, you know.
- Yes, darling, I know.

Beatrice, are you divine? Oui, monsieur.

I'll just bet.

Tell me, Uncle Bill-- Oh, may I
call you Uncle Bill? By all means.

Are you planning
a long visit with Harry...

now that you are
back from India?

I'm afraid not.
Are you?

I'm not visiting Harry.
Harry is visiting me.

Well, whichever, it must be
wonderful for both of you.

We think so.

As I look at her again, another
question crosses my mind.

As interesting as the last one?

When you and Harry get married,

how many children will you have?

Why don't you go ask him?

I may.

By the way, where is genius
shining at the moment?

In his study. Probably
doing something constructive.

I like it here.

I don't bother you?
Just continue.

Tell me.
Have you named her yet?

You have a suggestion?

Ceres--
The goddess of fertility.

Madame?
Oui?

Merci.

Excuse me.

Why don't you finish her
for me while I'm gone?

Oh, good. Come on in.

Now I can stop. If you
do, I'll go away again.

Just let me sit here
tidily in the corner.

Fine view. It ought to
be. Cost a pretty penny.

Did you see Liz?

Speaking of a pretty penny?

No, just speaking of Liz.

Marry her, my boy.
It's the surest cure.

What do you mean by that
one? Lover, may I come in?

You are everywhere,
aren't you, darling?

It's the only attribute
I share with the Almighty.

Angel, are you doing anything
that's stinkingly important?

Confidentially, Countess, it couldn't
be less important or more stinking.

What, silly?

I'm writing an interview with
myself on the subject of success.

Hear! Hear! Your latest has sold
another 100,000, it says here.

Amazing.
Hollywood wants it.

They say they'll put Garbo
in it. That should please you.

How did I get in the habit of becoming
involved with women who always open my mail?

You get such fascinating
letters, darling.

Cosmopolitan wants another series
of short stories-- and Smart Set too.

They pay the tops, it says.

Well, why should a writer
feel guilty...

because people are willing to pay
good money for the sweat off his brow?

They shouldn't, my boy. No one
ever paid for a drop of mine--

Except a few libraries
and museums.

Which reminds me
to tell you--

I've decided to settle down and take
over that museum. That's wonderful news.

Does that mean we'll see you often,
darling? When you're in Paris.

My bones will be on display amongst the
other antiquities every day except Thursday...

on the Avenue
President Wilson.

Harry, dear boy.
I'll walk out with you.

I'll find the door. I imagine
you're wanted in there.

Why the devil haven't you the
grace to tell me the truth?

What truth? That you
think my book stinks.

That everything
I'm doing stinks.

I came to praise Caesar,
not to bury him.

Most men would envy you.
You make a handsome living.

You have the acquaintance of most of
the interesting people of the world.

All this and Liz too.

You're young, you have
your health, you look well.

Fairly well.

Come to see me soon, dear boy.

Oh, Harry. Have you
done any hunting lately?

- No. Why do you ask?
- Too bad.

A man should never
lose his hand at hunting.

I had it all,
and what did I have?

My name in the papers, my
face in the better magazines.

And where was Cynthia?

People asked for my autograph
and pointed me out.

Why didn't she come back to me?

At last I made
a cry for help--

getting her American address
from Emile.

And so, my darling Cynthia,

I've never been able
to kill the loneliness,

but only made it worse.

Everyone I've been with has
only made me miss you more.

And what you did
can never matter.

I cannot cure myself
of loving you.

And one day outside the Ritz,

I followed a woman
whom I thought was you.

I follow any woman who
looks like you in some way,

afraid to see that it's not you,

afraid to lose
the feeling it gives me.

Yes?
Oh--

I beg your pardon. I thought
you were someone else--

Someone I know. I'm really
sorry. I didn't know you were--

A woman with a family?
They're my brother's children.

Now, why did I tell you that?

Aren't you Mr. Harry Street,
the writer?

That's right, I'm afraid.

I think I'm rather sorry
I'm not the right one.

Anything interesting?
Routine.

A few interesting bills
for you to foot.

No, I mean that letter
you're trying to hide.

Darling!

- How are you?
- Angel.

You came just at the right
moment. Now, let's see.

I don't think you've met
my fianc�, Mr. Street.

Contessa

How do you do? As a
patron of the arts--

Now sit down and let
Charles pour you a drink.

My devoted fianc� and I are just
in the middle of a little something.

Who is this--
this Cynthia Green?

"Hotel Florinda, Madrid."

She must be a girl
named Cynthia Green.

Is she a fan of yours?

Not the last I heard. From Madrid.

My dear, devoted fianc� has so
many fans. And I am one of them.

Oh, I just devoured
your last book.

I hope it didn't
give you a bellyache.

Is this letter
so important, Harry?

No. No, it isn't
important at all.

Good. Then you shan't
be troubled with it.

Excuse me.

Harry.

What are you doing? What
do you think I'm doing?

I won't let you go.
Ah.

I won't let you make a fool of me. Ah.

You said it was not important.

The whole thing is not
important. Harry, listen to me.

Lover, darling,
stop and listen to me.

Please, Harry,
stop and listen to me.

"Please, Harry."
I'm listening.

I know that sometimes I
must draw your nerves. Ho.

And sometimes you are
on my nerves too. Ho, ho.

I know that sometimes--

sometimes I'm
inadequate for you.

I know my faults.

But I love you, darling,
truly I do.

I love you as much as I can,

and if there is something
deeply troubling you--

Yes, there is something
troubling me. Then only tell me.

Maybe the dawning of suspicion,

but the fact that the airplane
is faster than the horse...

does not necessarily prove that
the world is getting any better.

No, I mean about us.

About us there is nothing
troubling me deeply at all.

Where are you going?
Are you going to Madrid?

Perhaps I'll go to Madrid.

I'll send you a postcard.

Oh, Harry, you look so silly.

Such a fool, trying to look...

like a knight questing
for the Holy Grail.

Maybe you're right.

Maybe I'll just have me a good
look-see for the Holy Grail.

Horses, Harry!
The same to you--

with tassels on 'em!

Horses, Harry! The
same to you, Countess.

My Cynthia was not at the
Hotel Florinda in Madrid...

or anywhere else.

The lousy civil war
had fixed Madrid.

Before I knew it,
I was carrying a gun--

but I wished I weren't.

Do you know an American driver
by the name of Cynthia Green?

Yo no entiendo ingl�s, se�or.

Con permiso.

Wish I was back in Detroit.

You're an American, huh?
Yeah.

Wish I was back in Detroit,

where I was when I got
sucked into this.

I just woke up,
I got sucked into this.

You believe any of that bushwa?

- No.
- What are you doing here?

You'd die laughing
if I told you.

�Compa��a, adelante!

Blessed Mary, Mother of God.

Blessed Mary, Mother of God.

Oh, please, let Harry find me.

In thy great bleeding heart,

please find room for my prayer.

Cynthia!

Cyn!
Oh, darling!

You're-- You're hurt.
Only a little. Oh!

You're very hurt.
Only a little.

Not like the horses.

Harry.

I'll get help.
No. No.

Stretcher bearers!

Darling?

Did you believe my letter?
Every word.

About the child too?

Yes, about the child too.

Stretcher bearers!
Oh, God!

Darling, I was so wrong
about the child.

I knew that God would punish me.

You? You--

There's infinite mercy.

You should spit on me.

Stretcher bearers!

Here!

They're coming.
Darling. Darling.

Will you excuse me...

of so many things?

Oh, it's funny.

When you touch me,
I still turn giddy.

I could be dying, and if
you touch me, I turn giddy.

You won't die.

Here. Here. Here.
Vamos.

Vamos.

Aprisa, aprisa.
Careful.

I knew you'd find me.

Cobarde.

Monsieur Street. Monsieur
Street. Monsieur Street.

Uncle Bill. I came as soon as
your letter caught up with me.

My dear boy.
What is all this?

My lad, it's not important.
We'll get you a good doctor.

Ugh-- Doctors.

It was a wise man who said that if all
the medicines were dumped into the sea,

it would be a horrible day
for the fish.

But don't worry about me.

I shall be in excellent hands
before long.

What about yourself now?

You don't look happy.
I'm all right.

What have you been doing
with yourself all these years?

You've traveled? Followed
my nose. Just wandered.

But about you-- Where?
Where? Where? Tell me where.

Hmm?
Nothing to brag about.

Oh, I've seen the Seven
Wonders of the World,

if that's what you mean--
or however many there are.

They're not very wonderful.

Then you haven't really seen.

You haven't hunted.

Hunted.

- Yes.
- Well, why should I?

I'm exactly the way the world
pays me a very good living to be.

I amuse the people
with my little tales.

This I can do with my left hand,

which leaves my right hand
free for other things.

I've destroyed my talent--

by not using it,

by betrayals of myself,

the things I believed in.

By drink,

by laziness,

by pride and by prejudice,

by hook and by crook.

What is this,
a catalog of old books?

Harry.

Once I hunted...

in Spain...

for the Holy Grail,

but they'd busted the Grail--

They busted her all to pieces.

The Grail--

Why should I blame them?
I killed her.

I-- I don't understand.

Well, Harry,
in your absence,

I've kept you with me
as well as I could.

My latest.
Did you hate it?

I love everything
you write, Harry.

But you couldn't finish it.

Take out the envelope.
It's for you.

In it you'll find
the legacy I'm leaving you...

when I lay down my bones
amongst the other relics here.

But I don't need anything.

Are you sure? Oh, the
royalties are rolling in.

That's one thing
about success--

Even when it's a failure,
it snowballs for a while.

But also one thing
about a snowball--

It has nowhere to go
except downhill.

Well, that's not money.

It isn't anything...

material.

Oh, I thought and thought
about what I might leave you.

Finally, I--
I wrote a little something.

A riddle.

A riddle?

I don't want you to read it
until after I've gone,

because you might
ask me the answer,

and I don't know the answer.

But if you can find it,

it'll save you.

**

**

Fine place, Jake.

Ah. Bonsoir, monsieur.

Is it-- Harry!

Oh, young Harry.

And this place looks wonderful.

It looks just the same.

The same...

dirty, smelly--

It's the same wonderful place.

But seriously,
this new abomination--

Oh, no, no, no. Leave
it, leave it, leave it.

Why do you let 'em
change it out there?

Who gave 'em the right
to spoil it like that?

Here we don't change. We have
no business, but no change.

Oh, look. See?

The same.
Ah.

That's because
it's preserved in a bottle.

You know, Emile, it might be
a pretty good idea for us too.

Formerly, when you came here,
you were not bitter.

Formerly...

when I came here--

You know, there was one night...

when I came here--

No, no.

You're right, Emile. You look
behind you, and what do you see?

Only a backside.

We must think of the future.

I have been left...
a legacy.

Yeah--
You too, Jake.

It is a riddle.

"Kilimanjaro...

is a snow-covered mountain,
19,710 feet high,

and is said to be the
highest mountain in Africa.

Close to the western summit...

there is the dried
and frozen carcass...

of a leopard."

In all that snow?

So they would have us believe.

Some lousy cat
got cold feet.

Oh, no, no. Wait a
minute. Wait a minute.

Here comes the kicker.

"No one has explained
what the leopard was seeking...

at that altitude."

Is that all?

It's an unsatisfactory story.
It ends badly.

But what was the leopard doing
up there in the first place?

That's the riddle.

And if I can find the answer,
I'm supposed to win a prize.

Come on. Let's put
our fine minds together, Jake.

Perhaps he took the wrong turn
and followed the wrong scent,

and so he got lost and died.

Yeah--

That's a very sensible
solution, Emile,

for him...

and for me.

Please?

Are you--

May I?

Cyn?

Thank you.
Am I mistaken?

Aren't you Mr. Harry Street, the
author, whom I met in the Place Vendome?

Yes, I'm Mr. Harry Street,

and I'm lost.

And you, uh--

Why-- Why, how--

how very beautiful you are.

Excuse me,
my dear Cynthia--

but tonight
I'm a little the worse...

from many years
of wear and tear.

You need rest, Mr. Street.
Yes, I need rest, Mr. Street.

I need a lot of things,
Mr. Street.

I--

I need...

you.

Would you like a drink?

What did you say? Well,
I'm going to have one.

Why don't we have one together?

Ask Molo. You know I
don't speak the lingo.

Molo?

Whiskey, soda.

About which one have
you been thinking, Harry?

- What do you mean, about which one?
- About Cynthia or about Liz.

What makes you think
you know so much?

Maybe I was thinking
about you and me.

No. Never about
you and me.

At least, not with any honesty.

Well, that just shows you
how wrong you can be.

I was thinking
about the way we met--

on the bridge near Notre-Dame.

When you mistook me
for your Cynthia?

You've never been able to forgive
me for not being her, have you?

Do you really want
to go into that one?

What else did you think
about you and me, Harry?

Mmm--

That we had a lulu
of a beginning.

Really a lulu.

Yes, we had that, all right.

Well, neither of us
were children.

We both knew
what we were getting.

Why did you suddenly
want to come here?

You owe me the courtesy
of being honest.

All right.

I'll be honest.

Because why I wanted
to come here...

is the point
of the whole bloody joke.

Because I'd found the answer
to a riddle, that's why--

About a leopard...

who'd lost his way.

And I thought that if I had
followed the wrong scent...

and was going to perish,

then I'd better get back to the
jungle from where I'd started.

It had been good here.

I had been right here,

and I thought I could get back
to it that way--

back into training--

work the fat off my soul,

the way a fighter
goes into the mountains...

to work the fat off his body.

I might have made it too,

if two weeks ago
that thorn hadn't needled me.

That foul smell
crosses here every night--

Every night for two weeks.

He's the one who makes
all the noise at night.

I don't mind him too much.

You know what that bad breath
just said to me?

The hyena? That it's
getting very late for me.

Aren't you funny.
That lousy timepiece.

Really, darling,
aren't you be--

Harry--

Harry.

What is it?
Huh?

It's nothing.

How do you feel?

All right.

Little wobbly.

Can you eat something now?
No.

A little broth will
keep your strength up.

I don't need my strength up.

Don't tell me you don't know.

Well, I've known everything...

except just when
it would happen.

Try, darling.

Helen.

I want to write.

I know.

Do you really?

I know almost all of it now--

except one very important thing
which you must tell me.

Harry, was it
entirely because of her...

that it was the best time
for you here?

Who? Cynthia, whom
twice you mistook me for.

Was it only because you
were happiest here with her?

If you thought all that,
why did you come along?

Why do you think?

You were always
a considerate woman.

You'd have bought me anything.

You'd like anything new
and exciting. I don't know.

I more than came along,
if you'll remember.

I arranged with the publisher
for your advance.

I lied to you. I contrived it. Why?

Because it was
the only chance for you.

And because it might be
a chance for me.

I thought that if
I was here with you,

and your work came well
and you were happy here again,

with me here--

Don't make me lose all my pride.

This is the first time
I've ever really seen you.

You're not a failure, darling.

Just because you've
disappointed yourself...

with some of the things you've
written, that's not failure as a man.

You've brought something
to everyone,

just as you brought
something to me.

You're quite a woman.

It's a pity I'm finding it out only now.

I love you, Harry.

I love you with all my heart.

We've got a whole lifetime
ahead of us.

You had every card in the
deck stacked against you.

If we had the time--
There'll be plenty of time.

You're going to live.
You've got to live.

Plenty of time--
That's what you think.

That's what they all think.

That's why they sit
on their tails.

Let's not kid ourselves.

A door can open
suddenly into nothing,

and death has been standing
there all the while.

If a man hasn't done
what he intended to do--

Who is he?

One of the boys of the local clinic
of the Mayo brothers, I do believe.

A witch doctor?

That's right.

He's the uncle of the boy I
tried to save from the hippo.

Send him away.
We don't want him.

He's heard that I'm sick
with the bad spirits.

He wants to be in on the kill.

Get rid of him, Harry. He gives me the
creeps. Ask Dr. Pasteur to sit down.

Please send him away.

He's eating a root of some
special sort to sharpen his wits.

Now he's gonna roll the bones.

No fooling. In that
stinking cat-skin bag,

he's got a couple of dozen
bits of bones...

from the hind legs
of anteaters...

and tortoises,
baboons and whatnot.

From the pattern
that they will make...

when he throws them
on the ground,

he will be able
to diagnose what ails me.

Go ahead.
You're fated, Doc.

Boxcars!

Mmm.

A man finally gets tired.

In the tent.
What are you gonna do?

I don't wanna go in
the tent. In the tent.

It's a clear night.
It's not going to rain.

You'll do just as I say.

What a life. A man
can't live as he pleases.

Can't even die as he pleases.

**
**

Through the fields
of poppies.

Like opium.

Opium.

Makes you feel funny.

Where'd we go?

Went off to that war.

Molo?

Dead soldiers...

wearing ballet skirts.

I'm sorry.
I don't understand.

Meant to write about it.

I've seen the world change.

Seen not just the events,

but the people.

People change.

It's my duty to write it.

I've-- Oh, God--

Been in it.
I've seen it.

I've been in it.
I've seen it.

I've watched it.

Darling?

Did I hurt you?

I don't want to hurt you.

Hello.

I've been writing.
I know, Harry.

For a million years.

Can you take dictation?
No. I never learned.

Oh, that's all right.

Wouldn't be time anyway.

Seems that if I--

I could get it all into...

one paragraph,

if I could get it...

just right,

but--

Hello, Molo, you white
man's burden, you.

Darling, I've only got
the first-aid book.

What's he gonna do,
sprinkle me with monkey dust?

Darling-- A hair from
the tail of a leopard?

The poor, old-- Darling,
please try to listen.

You told me in certain parts of
your leg there isn't any feeling.

Wood. Funniest thing-- It says in
the book it's a kind of paralysis.

The blood vessels. One should use hot
compresses to keep the circulation going.

You tell 'em to use the lion
medicine. It's very potent.

Don't make fun, even of him.
He only wants to do his best.

And I'm trying to do my best.

I'm trying to do
my best too, darling.

If you'll only do that, Harry.

"'Heigh, ho, '

said Raleigh."

"Boil a sharp knife.
Clean the area.

"Slip sharp point of knife.

Apply dry dressing."

**

Stretcher bearers!

Leave him alone!
Stretcher bearers!

Darling, don't. It's all
right. It's all right.

Get out!

Get out!

Darling.
A lousy fever.

Darling, are you conscious
enough to listen to me?

Sure. There's a very
large swelling on your leg.

I'm going to open it.

Do you...

feel something strange?

Yes, darling.

Death is near us.

Do you think he could come so
close to you and I wouldn't know it?

Don't ever believe...

what they tell you about it.

Not a scythe or a skull.

Just now it came with a rush.

Not the rush of water,

but of wind.

And--

And the funniest thing.

The hyena...

skipped lightly...

along the edge of it.

God help us.

Go away.

It's all right now.

I don't understand.

Go away.

Harry! It's come!

The plane-- it's come.

Darling, it's here.

Darling, it's here.

It's here-- the plane.

It's here.

Darling, look.

What do you see?

It's Mr. Johnson.
Well, what do you know?

No, I mean look at the tree.

The tree!

Well, I'll be hanged.

They've gone.

They have gone.

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